


Do you want to wear a suit?

by villanevebabexo



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: 5 Years Later, Cottagecore, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24528322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villanevebabexo/pseuds/villanevebabexo
Summary: It's Eve's birthday, and she is not expecting a surprise.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 7
Kudos: 178





	Do you want to wear a suit?

**Author's Note:**

> This is purely self indulgent! Happy ending xx

May 3rd 2025. 

Eve hasn’t slept. She pretended to sleep. 

It’s beautiful outside. Sunny. Warm. And a Saturday. Can her birthday fall on a better day? Probably not. But Eve doesn’t care about birthdays. She’s never cared. Well, maybe she did once when she received a bus shaped cake from a certain someone. Eve smiles at the memory. She doesn’t remember much from that time, but she remembers her. Of course she does. She remembers the kiss. The head butting. She remembers the heart; she kept it for years after. She still has it. And the cake. Eve doesn’t regret much in her life, but she regrets not eating that cake. She regrets not finding her details from the bakery sooner. But would that have made any difference? 

Things are relatively okay now. Things are calm. Things are “normal” now. Normal? She quickly forces herself to think about something else. She doesn’t want to be reminded of the past. She’s spent years trying to move on from the trauma of watching most people she loved get hurt, die, or simply disappear. 

Eve doesn’t have plans. Again, she never has plans for her birthday. Why would she have plans for her 54th trip around the sun anyway? It’s literally the least special number in the history of numbers, she thinks. When she turned 50, her then girlfriend forced her to celebrate. They went to Prague, Paris, and Barcelona. A week of travelling, eating the most precious foods, drinking the best wines, and having the most mind-blowing sex. Eve recalls how not-scared she felt to be so “old”, because she didn’t feel old back then. She felt alive. Wide awake. She was the happiest she’s ever been despite the continuous threat on her life from the 12. She is happy now too. Maybe to a lesser degree, but only because she hasn’t gotten enough sleep. Not because she’s afrai-

A very distinct smell crawls up her nostrils. Eve recognises it. She sighs. She’s told her now wife multiple times that breakfast making is definitely not a skill of hers. Cooking in general. If she’s being completely honest. Eve jumps out of bed, putting her thick hair into a bun, and ignoring the many white curls that have appeared over the years. Maybe it’s time for a dye. She doesn’t really mind this look. As she walks out of the bedroom, Eve begins to feel more focused. With each step, she reminds herself that even though she’s 54 with white hairs, she still looks decent, right? Right? Objectively speaking, she knows that her body is still fit and healthy, and that somehow her face hasn’t aged that much. A miracle given the stress she was under for years. Maybe it’s the skin care products her wife introduced into her life. Many things she didn’t care about have become a big part of her daily routine. Like the sheets they sleep on, and the fashion sense that she has developed. Allegedly. 

She’s introduced things to her wife too. How to breathe the bad night dreams away. 

And Kim Wilde.

But looks don’t matter. Eve knows. How she feels on the other hand? Well, it probably does. As she walks downstairs, she is sure that this is not sleep deprivation. It’s anxiety. So birthdays now make her anxious. Noted. She ignores it. She always ignores her anxieties. She doesn’t have the time. Actually that’s a lie, she has all the time in the world. Now that she doesn’t work at MI6, her days seem much longer. And they are. Managing a small farm, and selling produce at the market is not exactly as time consuming as chasing assassins, and trying to dismantle an international secret organisation. That part of her life is so far away that Eve sometimes wonders if it even happened at all. There is literally no proof it did. The people that were present to it back then are no longer part of her life now. 

Well except for one. 

Of course. 

Eve enters the living room/open kitchen, and she’s immediately taken back by the loud music. Villanelle- turned Oksana turned Emilia Stewart- is dancing around the kitchen to some new indie band she’s into now. And Cooking? She’s cooking? More like managing to burn both toast and an omelette by the look of it. But Eve is not mad. She smiles, and watches. How did they end up here? Eve will never not be amazed by their journey. She doesn’t remember all the details. But she remembers turning back. She remembers knowing in her goddamn soul that there would be no life if she continued walking away on that bridge. 

She still calls her V in private. Villanelle in bed. When she does that thing with her fingers. And when she wakes up crying in the middle of the night. Another panic attack. Another nightmare. She would scream she’s doomed. And Eve would whisper her name. Bring her back to reality. Hold her in her arms. Tells her if she’s doomed, they’re doomed together. 

But this Villanelle is not having any nightmares. This Villanelle is happy. She looks up, eyes sparkle like a cat. Eve catches that look, and suddenly nothing else matters. 

Villanelle screams, “happy birthday!!” She’s already said happy birthday when the clock turned to midnight. She woke Eve up, kissed her lips, and then proceeded to make her cum three times. And yet here she is acting like she’s only now finding out that her wife has entered her mid 50s. 

“What are you doing?” Eve answers, with a small chuckle. She walks over to her, and kisses her lips. The kiss is too deep, and Villanelle is caught by surprise. 

“Oh wow,” She whispers against her lips like they kissed for the first time. Not the millionth time. Maybe more. They stopped counting after the second kiss. 

“I was making you breakfast,” She adds. 

Eve smiles, and pulls away, examining the kitchen disaster. 

Villanelle looks at her innocently. Eve shakes her head. But she's calm. She would never be angry. Not at villanelle. And not for this. 

“Can we just order breakfast?” Eve asks. 

Villanelle shrugs, “don’t say I didn’t try.”

Eve grabs her wife’s phone from the counter, but before she can open the food delivery app they share, she notices a google search. It’s just right on the screen in her palm. 

Can you officiate your own wedding? 

Villanelle now knows that Eve knows. 

“We never got married, you know.” She states, and Eve thinks about the very first time they became Emilia and Josephine. Moved to the smallest city in the UK. St Davids sounded cute and safe and so far away from the rest of the world. The perfect place to hide when a group of unknowns want you and the love of your life dead. Carolyn helped them. She planned it all. But she didn’t pick the location. They did. Well, Villanelle suggested it, and Eve agreed. The marriage was never 'real'. They act like it is, but only when they are Em and Josie. 

“You can have a chicken again,” V had said. 

They do have a few chickens now. 

They started a new life as a boring married lesbian couple who run a small-ish farm together, dress well, and mind their own business. 

“Does it really matter?” Eve questions. And does it?

Villanelle is quiet. 

“It would be fun. We can have a party.” At 32 she is still so child-like. 

“We don’t have any close friends, and do we really need that type of attention?” Eve doesn’t get it, but she can’t help falling even more in love with the woman standing a few metres away from her. 

“A party of two is still a party.” Villanelle grins, and Eve rolls her eyes. Secretly, she’s enjoying this. 

Villanelle joins her on the couch, “Think about it. We can have it in the back yard. I’ll officiate. You’ll wear a dress. I’ll wear a suit.” 

“Why do I have to wear a dress?” Eve shoots back, spooning Villanelle as she tries to imagine how a guest-less wedding would look and feel like. 

“Do you want to wear a suit?” Villanelle enquires. 

“No.” Eve says without hesitation. 

“Ok so we’re getting married.” Villanelle unlocks herself from Eve’s arms, “we have so much to plan!!” 

She runs upstairs, getting her laptop. When she’s back, Eve has ordered their breakfast. 

By the time their food is delivered, Villanelle has already made her go through at least 50 dresses on some random but expensive website. 

Eve knows they probably can’t afford half the dresses she’s seeing. 

But that’s okay. 

It’s okay. 

She falls asleep after food, and dreams about her fake wife becoming her real wife. And how hot she is going to look in a wedding suit. 

She’s not afraid.


End file.
